


Hidden Strength

by LadyMuzzMuzz



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Family Fluff, Gen, Homecoming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23867977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMuzzMuzz/pseuds/LadyMuzzMuzz
Summary: A twelve year old Nero doesn't think he has the strength to become a Squire of the Order.  But with help of a mysterious broken sword, he discovers that perhaps, his power is just waiting to be unsheathed.
Comments: 52
Kudos: 153





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FuryEclipse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryEclipse/gifts).



> A concept thrown out by FuryEclipse on Discord. A whole work shift spent stewing on the idea, followed by eight hours of typing as if I was possessed by Apollo himself.

Nero stiffened each time as a patrolling knight passed him by, before relaxing when they were out of sight. He wished he had been allowed to bring his headphones and some tunes, because this whole waiting business was killing him. But not today, he needed to be on his best behaviour. Hence why he was dressed in his holiday best, perfectly pressed and hemmed. It was uncomfortable as heck, but if he wanted to make the best impression on the high ranking Order members he had to grin and bear it.

When Nero had been told that Credo was nominating him to be a Squire of the Order, he had been so excited, it took everything to maintain a straight face. Imagine, him, a twelve year old orphaned freak with white hair, that no one aside from the Elesien siblings seemed to care about, now on track to become a respected elite member of the ruling class. 

And that’s why he had allowed Kyrie to style his hair, slicked back in a ‘presentable’ manner with a copious amount of pomade. It didn’t suit him at all, but it kept it out of his eyes. And following Credo’s advice, he resisted every urge to rub at his nose, like he did when agitated. He wasn’t going to let the one man on this island that didn’t look on him with pity or disgust down.

That being said, the good luck hug that Kyrie had given him before he left with her brother couldn’t stop the blood rushing to his face. He had hoped Kyrie hadn’t noticed his pale skin turning into a pretty vibrant shade of pink, but no such luck with her brother, if the warm chuckle and the clap of a firm hand on his shoulder was indication.  
Once he was alone, he asked the knight, “So, what’s going to happen? Is there anything I should do or say?”

“You’ll just need to be on your best behaviour, mind your P’s and Q’s, and show respect and deference to your superiors.” Credo informed him as they walked across the bridge to Fortuna Castle. He must have seen Nero’s scowl as he pictured himself bowing to people who sneered at him on the best of days, “I have full confidence you’ll impress them. And besides,” his voice lowered, as if he was sharing a secret, “I was specifically asked if I would nominate you. The higher ups in the Order were already interested in you. So, you’ve got one foot in the door. That being said, you still have to behave.”

Nero was stunned. _The Order wanted HIM? The kid that everyone whispered and gossiped about?_

They approached the doors of the Castle, where the hooded guards stood at attention. Credo gave them a salute, and announced, “I’ve brought the applicant, as requested.” One of the guards silently nodded, and the heavy doors slowly opened. Both Knight and would-be-Squire walked in, and the sound of the doors closing behind him with a heavy thud gave Nero an ominous feeling of foreboding. 

“Captain,” Credo gave another salute to another, older soldier. 

“Excellent.” The man gave Nero a once over, and apparently satisfied, told Credo, “We’ll inform you of our decision later, you are dismissed.” The nineteen year old gave Nero a reassuring shoulder pat, and promptly left him alone with the older man. Nero attempted to suppress a nervous cough.

“I will have to inform my superiors that you have arrived. You shall remain here until our return,” the man ordered, and Nero resisted bristling at his tone. He was merely talking to him as captain to soldier, nothing personal.

“Yes sir,” he managed to respond professionally, and abruptly he was left alone, except for the occasional patrol.

So here he was, bored out of his mind, but patiently waiting for his inspection. It was probably nerves, but for some reason he had a feeling that there was more going on than just a simple assessment for Squirehood. Why was he dragged all the way here to Fortuna Castle? Why not in the Capital? That was where the Order’s main headquarters was located, while the Castle was mostly a repository of knowledge, not a military base.

“Nero?” A voice finally called out, and surprisingly it wasn’t the captain, but another man, a scientist of some sort. He hated when people called him by name, even more than the epithets he occasionally heard people call him, under their breath. Especially when he found out what the name meant. The matrons insisted that he’d been found swaddled in a black blanket, but it wasn’t hard to tell that the name was intended to be an ironic joke. _I mean, who names a kid with bone white hair a name that describes the opposite colour?_ As soon as he reached the age of Majority, he was going to change his name. To what? He wasn’t quite sure. If it didn’t sound so confusing, the name Credo sounded good.

“This way, please” The man led him down a hallway, and Nero followed, surprised by two metal clad knights that immediately flanked him, as if to guard him...or to keep him in line. He couldn’t see their faces, couldn’t see any skin on them, but something about them gave him the heebie jeebies. 

For an interminable amount of time, they walked, deeper into the depths of the fortress, and as the minutes passed by, Nero became more and more nervous. Seriously, why was there so much walking involved in this? Only the thought that this might be part of the test kept him from pausing. But eventually, he couldn’t hold it in anymore, especially as the ornate tapestries and portraits vanished, replaced by bare stone, pipes, and rumbles.

“How much further?” he timidly asked.

“Almost there, young sir,” the man kept up his pace, “don’t worry, you’ll be able to rest a while once we arrive.” And sure enough, there was a sliding door, incongruently modern in such an ancient setting. A hiss of steam, and they entered into a large round room. It looked less like a military setting, and more like a chemistry lab. And there, standing in the centre, was the captain, and a man he’d never met before. He wore Order garb, but not military colours. And no military officer Nero knew had such a garish, impractical monocle. 

“Ah, the guest of honour arrives” the man smiled, but something about it was fake. “Testing will commence promptly.” Nero was alarmed, he had just been told he would be given time to rest!

“And what do I tell Sir Credo?” the captain asked, seemingly unaware of Nero’s increasing panic. “He’s expecting the boy back at the end of the day”

“I trust you to make a reasonable excuse. Something along the lines of us being suitably impressed, that should be enough to keep him content. He tapped at the clipboard he held in one hand. “Dismissed.”

The captain saluted, and with a sharp military turn, left, leaving Nero alone with the scientists and the armoured knights. Nero would always proclaim that he wasn’t afraid of anything anymore, but right now, he was truly terrified.   
“Now…” the man grinned, and there was no mistake, it was a smile of a nightmarish monster. “It’s time to see if you have enough strength to power the Saviour’s core.”

 _Oh hells no_ , Nero thought, his eyes frantically searching for an exit. There was no way any test to be a squire was worth this, even if he didn’t know what they were talking about. A moment’s pause to offer a mental apology to Credo, he bolted and ran towards the sliding doors, confident he could outrun everyone. He might not be the best at academics, but when it came to track and field, he could outrun anyone in his class, his grade, hell, the entire school.

So, it was to his surprised dismay that one of the guards, despite their heavy metal armour, was easily able to intercept him, and in the blink of an eye, he was picked up by the neck and slammed into the stone wall. The grip on his throat was nearly crushing, so his hands desperately scrambled to break free, and he tried to make eye contact with the guard, to attempt to beg to be let go. But to his horror, the helmet had no eye holes.  
“Now, now,” cooed the monocled bastard, approaching from his left, “We don’t want to damage him needlessly,” and the pressure on his neck lessened a touch as he approached “It’s time for your promised rest,” and while Nero silently pleaded with him to let him go, he felt a cold sharp pain on the right side of his throat, as the other scientist jabbed a needle in. He felt a metallic cold liquid flow through his veins, and his world went dark.

* * *

He floated peacefully in the pitch black. Years ago, when he was little, he was scared of the dark, scared of being alone, and even as he grew up and steadfastly denied that he didn’t need a ‘little kid’s nightlight’, he was always nervous in the dark. But despite that, he was surprisingly calm, and not because of the injection.

_Master?_

A voice rang out in the darkness, vaguely feminine, and despite him not seeing where it came from, Nero could have sworn the voice was silver and blue. Kyrie said that when she sang, or heard music, she could picture the notes and sounds as colours and shapes, but Nero never could. But now? He could have sworn he could see the melding of metal and vibrant azure as it spoke.

_Oh Master, you’ve returned! It’s been so long! I’m sorry…_ The voice sounded despondent _I_ _wasn’t strong enough to protect you, I broke before you did… wait_ the voice paused, resonating in his head, _You are not him…_

“Yeah, disappointment seems to be a thing I am good at,” he muttered.

 _But you are very similar to him, your strength…_ the voice trailed off.

Nero just assumed he was doing that lucid dream thing he’d read in a book once. Might as well indulge the dream.  
“Who are you?” he asked.

 _I am Yamato._ she responded with pride, _The Right Hand of Sparda…_ her voice dropped to a mournful tone, _and a broken failure. I failed my Lord Sparda…. and I failed Him._  
Okay, this dream was crazier than he thought his mind could conjure up. “Wait, Sparda, as in the “Lord of Fortuna, Beloved of the Church Sparda?”

_I seem to recall people once called him as such, long after his departure, but yes, that is he._

Nero was stunned. He wasn’t particularly religious, especially after his prayers to be adopted by a loving family as a small child went unanswered. But even if he was dreaming, this felt too real to be a figment of his skeptical nature.

 _You seem to be a prisoner as well,_ Yamato observed, yanking him back to his dreadful situation. _And the first to have the strength to communicate with me_

Nero scoffed. Even when dreaming, he couldn’t help but remind himself how weak he was.

_What is your name, Little One?_

“Nero,” he responded, expecting the inevitable derogatory chuckle.

 _Nero…_ it tested the name, _That is a good name. A strong name._ As much as he tried, he couldn’t detect a hint of sarcasm in it. In fact, he felt a sense of pride of someone aside from Credo or Kyrie calling him by that name.

 _Nero,_ Yamato spoke, more urgently, _You must break free...this is no place for anyone, let alone someone like you. You are in grave danger._

“What can I do?” Nero countered, “I’m just a twelve year old kid, I wasn’t even able to outrun those hulking guards.”

 _Alone, maybe not… but if we pool our power together, we can both reach freedom. Stay strong, Little Nero, and I will guide you to safety. All I ask,”_ she requested politely, and Nero steeled himself for a demand that all these types of deals came with. _“Is that you bring me to a certain locale, to a person. You and I shall be safe there, and perhaps I can be reforged, to atone for my multiple failures._

“Reforged?” Nero said, but the darkness was beginning to bleed out, and vague shapes, and the stale air that had been recirculated countless times filled his lungs. 

_There is not much time, be prepared…_ Yamato’s voice faded away as he slowly came to.

“Oh dear,” a disturbingly familiar voice rang out, “this dose of sedative wore off far too quickly, his metabolism is far above what any human should be. You!” Nero blinked as the bleary image of the scientist that had originally jabbed him with the needle pointed at another blurry white coat, “Inform Lord Agnus that the subject is coming to, and ask for permission to administer more sedative.”

Nero heard the sound of sliding doors, and gradually the room came into focus. He was in some sort of clinical room, similar, but not the same as the one where he was subdued at. To his horror, he was strapped onto a bed, with thick leather restraints keeping him in place on a threadbare hospital mattress. Instinctively, he began struggling against them.

“Now now,” the man tutted, like a disappointed Matron, “There will be none of that. I would like to not get the Angelo involved.” He motioned to the knight standing silently close by, “They’re obedient, but sometimes they can be a bit overzealous, and I would not like you to get hurt by them.”

“Please…” Nero rasped, his mouth so dry, “let me go, please” How long had he been here? Did Credo know about it? Did Credo care? Did they forget about him?

The scientist gave him a sympathetic smile, “I feel for you, honestly, I do. But for the sake of Fortuna, some sacrifices must be made.”

“Why… me?” he pleaded weakly. It wasn’t fair! All his life was some sort of joke, and yet this was the punchline?

The doctor ignored his question, and continued his medical puttering.

 _Nero…_ the comforting blue metal voice from before rang out, no longer a dream. The scientist seemed not to hear it, if his continued writing on a notepad was any indication, _I shall expend my power, as meagre as it is, to break you free and take out your captors. Be ready._

He tried to figure out where the voice was coming from, but there were no others there with him, aside from the scientist and the guard, and it didn’t seem to be the feminine (or talkative) type. Nope, the only thing slightly strange in the room was in the centre, suspended in a blue light, was a broken sword. Not a Durandel, but something much more exotic, something much more powerful. And as he watched it, the blue glow intensified.

“Strange,” the man was distracted by a screen that displayed various numbers. “Yamato’s energy levels are off the chart,” and he looked at the broken sword, now pulsing with an audible vibration. He approached it, and now for Nero it clicked. Yamato wasn’t a person, she was a...weapon?

As the white coat approached the sword, the vibrations suddenly stopped, and like the quiet before a storm, everything seemed to stop. Even the air seemed shimmer, before cracks...no, cuts appeared in the air, like panes of glass. The sound of slicing echoed throughout the room, and Nero clenched his eyes shut, as it felt like reality itself was being sheared. He heard the sound of shattering glass, crunching metal, and..two screams, one rather inhuman, and one all too human. Thankfully, the latter cut off quickly afterwards, and for a moment, he kept his eyes clenched shut, fearing what he would see. 

But eventually, fear gave way to curiosity, and cautiously, he reopened his eyes. The place was trashed. Beakers of chemicals were cleanly sliced, their contents spilling on bisected tables, electronic devices were sparking and smoking. And the scientist?

Well, Nero only glanced a little before turning away. There was a reason the man’s scream cut off abruptly, something related to his head being removed from his neck. The guard lay motionless as well, matching him in headlessness.

The only thing intact in the room was Nero’s bed, and even that, he found out as he moved his arms to check himself, wasn’t quite true. The padded restraints, the metal chains, had all been cut, as cleanly as a hot knife through butter. He slowly, fearfully got up. What had just happened? Maybe he was still dreaming, whatever that man had injected into him was just that strong. Maybe this whole thing was a really vivid dream, and when he looked down, he’d be wearing no pants, and would soon be woken up by a stern Credo, telling him he was late for breakfast.

 _Make haste, Little Nero,_ the voice returned, _Gather my shards, and I shall get us to temporary safety._

Okay, so she was a talking sword. If the situation wasn’t so dire, he’d be laughing. He leapt down, grabbing the deceased man’s work bag and scampered to the centre of the room, grabbing one, two, three, four..and just when he was about to grab the final piece, the elegant hilt, he felt a crushing pain at his ankle, and the painful grinding of metal on metal. To his horror, the guard, headless and without a left arm, yanked on his leg, causing him to lose his balance and topple over. 

Stunned momentarily, he felt crushing pain again around his throat as the headless monstrosity began to choke the life out of him. He thrashed against the unyielding, unfeeling metal, stars of oxygen deprivation beginning to cloud his vision. He was so close to freedom, only to be stopped at the finish line. It was because he wasn’t strong enough.

Just

NOT

**STRONG**

**ENOUGH!**

He felt a burning in his right arm, a fire crackling through his veins, and yet painless. Perhaps he was losing sensation from having the life choked out of him. But, in a last ditch effort, fueled by that inner fire, he balled his burning hand into a fist and swung with all his might.

The remnants of the knight shattered to a shower of sparkling metal shards.

Nero gasped in the fresh air, his right hand went to his throat to massage away the pain, and he nearly screamed. It didn’t feel like his hand, it felt clawed and scaly. Instinctively, he yanked it away, and looked at his hand. No longer was it the nigh-unnatural paleness he was accustomed to, but a red scaled demonic appendage, with a blue vein pulsing through it. And strangely, the light was the thing that calmed him down. It seemed the same shade of Yamato’s voice. But there would be time to analyze it later… right now he had to get himself and the sword out of here. But, as he grabbed the hilt, with beautiful braiding around it, he wondered how he would manage that. He was in the depths of Fortuna castle, with no idea where in the fortress he was located, and even in the chance he managed to escape, the castle was far away from home.

_Hold my hilt, Nero, and picture a place of sanctuary that is not far away. I shall expend the last of my power to spirit us away. After this, I will only be able to guide you._

Nero clenched his eyes shut, his mind searching for a place to hide. Judging faces flickered through his memories, taunting voices, before suddenly a small home on the edge of the Capital, its cozy front yard full of tulips in the spring, chrysanthemums in the fall. Of a beautiful voice practicing her scales, of the clanging of metal as a young man practiced swordwork with him.

So focused on that memory, he barely registered the sound of a sliding door and the stuttered shouting of a man, when a force outside of him whipped his hand vertically, then horizontally. The fabric of reality ripped open, leaving a tear of an inky void in front of him.

_Now Little One, go!_

Yamato had not steered him wrong so far, so with the bag of shards on his shoulder, hilt of the sword in his hand, he rushed through, feeling cold prickles of unearthly energy surrounding him, before the sound of air being sucked into a vacuum subsided. He looked around. It was nighttime, the lights of the Capital flickering in the distance. But aside from that, he had no idea what time, nor even the date. He could have been out of it for days, for all he knew. 

But what he did know was the house in front of him. Its lights were out, (an indication that it was probably late at night, Credo had a habit of staying up late doing boring paperwork assigned to Junior Knights) but the sweet scents of honeysuckle gave him a feeling of safety. He staggered to the door, paused to place Yamato’s hilt into his bag, before pounding on the heavy oakwood door with his glowing arm, that slowly shifted from its calm blue, to a warm amber. Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the drug, the wearing off of adrenaline, or expending all that energy to get away, but Nero was only vaguely aware of the patter of frantic feet, the door opening, and the calling of his name, before collapsing. Strange, the impact felt soft, instead of the hardness of cobblestone.

* * *

He awoke to the quiet whispers of Kyrie and Credo.

“His arm… what happened?”

“I don’t know, Kyrie.”

“You’re the one who brought him there, Credo!” she hissed angrily, a notable departure from her normally sunny demeanor.

“I was told that the Leadership was interested in him for a Squire position. If I had known Lord Agnus was involved, I would have never even entertained the thought of bringing him there.”

“They hurt him. Why did they hurt him?”

“I don’t know Kyrie….I don’t know…” Credo repeated, sounding defeated, just as strange as Kyrie’s previous anger. “I trusted them to have his best interests at heart…”

“You know…” Nero croaked, his lips as cracked and dry as his throat. “I didn’t think I’d ever be the guest of honour at a funeral.”

“NERO!!” Kyrie literally glomped him, and he felt wetness on his shoulder, and the shudder of sobs she was trying to contain. “W-we were so worried about you! Credo was out looking for you all day and night the past few days!”

“I-I was merely making sure you hadn’t done something stupid, or gotten lost on the way home. I would be a poor excuse of a knight if I let my Squire get lost on their first day,” Credo hastily attempted to correct, but his relief was palpable as he handed a glass of water to him.

Nero resisted the urge to gulp the contents down. “Hate to break it to you Credo, but I don’t think I’m going to get that squire position.”

The young man’s eyebrows furrowed, even more than he usually did. “What happened Nero? Kyrie and I-- I mean Kyrie has been constantly worried about you.”

Nero paused. He didn’t want to lie to his friends, but looking down at his glowing arm resting on the comforter, Kyrie’s fingers gently stroking the scales, he needed to tell them something.

“I didn’t even get a test, they just took me to Lord Agnus, and injected me with something, and next thing I know, I’m stumbling through your front yard. I don’t even know where this, “he shuffled his arm” came from.

“Those bastards…” Credo muttered. He must be extremely angry. The nineteen year old never swore in all the years Nero had known him.

“Credo… if they hurt Nero…. Will they come back for him?” Kyrie asked fearfully, her hand clenching his transformed arm. The fact she was at ease with this change, was balm for his soul. He didn’t want to lose the two brightest spots in his life.

 _She is right to be worried. They will pursue us both until we reach our destination._ Yamato’s voice shimmered in response, a lot weaker than before, but like the scientist, neither of the siblings seemed to notice.

Nero didn’t want to do it, didn’t want to leave the people he cared about most in the world, the closest he had to a family, but he knew if he stayed, even if they willingly hid him, his presence would put them both in danger. Whatever designs the Order had for him, he couldn’t risk getting them hurt.

“I… need to get to the Mainland. I’m a wanted man...kid…. whatever.”

“But Nero, you’ve never left Fortuna before, it might be dangerous!” Kyrie protested, and Nero shushed her. 

“I’m in a pretty rocky situation right now, right here. Don’t worry,” he smiled as confidently as he could, “I’ve got a plan.” At least, he hoped Yamato did.

“He’s right,” Credo agreed, albeit reluctantly, rummaging through the dresser drawers, before drawing out a cloak. “He can’t stay here, whatever the Order has done to him, they’ll stop at nothing to get him back.” He looked at the clock as he withdrew a yellow envelope, “The Noon Ferry leaves in a little more than an hour, if we hurry, I can use my Knight’s clearance to get him on it as a pilgrim. From then on…” he opened the envelope up, and shook it open, and the paper currency of the Mainland tumbled out. Nero wasn’t too familiar with it, but he knew that it was a lot. “This will have to suffice as aid.”

Nero protested, flabbergasted at his friend’s generosity “Credo...I can’t… I can’t accept this”

“Nonsense,” the older man said as he tucked the wads of bills in a pocket of the workbag, “consider this a poor way of repayment for the harm I caused you.”

“Credo….” his eyesight became blurry as he got out of bed, putting the cloak over his shoulders. He might have not believed in Sparda, but he was thankful to whoever was in charge of his fucked up life for giving these two friends as a blessing.

“Now now, no tears in this household,” Credo chided him, but it seemed like the Knight’s eyes were a bit more shiny than usual. “Come Kyrie, let’s get my Squire ready for his trip.”

And so, with his bag of clothes (and Yamato secured at the bottom), prepared sandwiches in his backpack, his arm in a makeshift sling, and a pilgrim’s cloak over his shoulders, Knight and Squire left the cozy home, leaving a tearful young girl behind. _One day, when you attain your full strength, you shall return,_ Yamato assured him. _It seems to be the destiny of those I accompany, to return to this island._

* * *

Rain poured down as Nero stood before the redstone building, soaking through his now well worn cloak. Nero had quickly realized that it was mainly for decoration, and provided little to no protection against the elements.

The past three weeks had been a crash course in lessons about the Mainland. On the bright side, it was more anonymous, and people didn’t give him a second glance about his white hair, or when he dared show it, his glowing arm. 

But on the downside, it was more anonymous. Never had Nero ever thought he’d miss the titterings of Matrons, or the dirty looks the Elder men gave him as he walked by. But now he actually did. Aside from food vendors, and the occasionally homeless person he exchanged money for information, no one had spoken to him.

Even Yamato, who started out rather chatty, giving him directions the moment his feet had touched solid ground, had quieted down to a few unprompted sentences the past few days. And these were only giving him the bare directions to his final destination.

And now he was here, for better or worse. The food was long gone, and aside from a few coins, the money was gone as well. His shoes were worn to the point it would have been easier to just walk barefoot. His shoulders ached, and he longed for nothing more than a warm bed. But even here, on the threshold of safety, Nero hesitated. It didn’t look like it was the safest side of town, and the flashing light of a woman in a rather provocative pose unnerved him.

“Yamato, you sure this is the place?...it uh… kinda looks… a bit… rundown.”

 _I promise you, Nero…. This is your destination…. Master didn’t particularly care for him, but I am certain he will keep you safe…_ she seemed to chuckle tiredly, _at the very least, you will soon meet my sister, and I believe she will take a great liking to you, she was always the more outgoing of us two. Master and I could have learned from her, but do not tell her I said that, it will go to her hilt and she will never shut up about it._

The way she spoke alarmed him. “Yamato, why do you keep only referring to ‘me’...and not ‘us’? I thought this was _our_ journey.”

Another weak chuckle. _I’m afraid I’ve been running a little deception with you, little one…. The destination was intended for you alone… I have expended the last of my strength, pitiful as it was, to get you there. You must take the last few steps alone._

“But..” Nero begged, “There’s gotta be a way to fix you up… you said so yourself!”

 _Do not weep for me, Little Nero. I have played my part, and I am proud that I did what little I could for His Legacy... If it is a way to make up for my previous weakness… then it is a price I gladly will pay…_ She went silent.

“Yamato?” he called out, but there was no response, not even a weak buzz of vibration. Nero couldn’t handle it. He collapsed there on the steps, holding the bag, warm rain dripping down his cheeks. How ridiculous, he thought, he was weeping for a talking, broken sword...No, not just a sword, a guide, a companion, a...friend. And now… now he felt truly alone.

But she had spent her dying breath, energy… life essence, whatever talking swords lived on to get him there, and he wouldn’t squander that gift, just like he wouldn’t squander Kyrie’s and Credo’s friendship.

So, after composing himself the best he could, he took a deep breath, and placing his hand on the tarnished brass knocker, banged as loud as he could three times. For a few agonizing moments, there was no response, and then… then the doorknob twisted, and Nero squinted at the light pouring out. A figure, his face obscured by the warm yellow light behind him stood there, no doubt wondering why this soaked-to-the-bone kid was at his front door at two in the morning.

“Well, this wasn’t what I was expecting when I wished for something interesting to happen tonight.” he quipped, and Nero noticed he had a firearm at his hip. He inwardly gulped and hoped that Yamato hadn’t steered him wrong. “Kinda past your curfew, ain’t it kid?”

“I-I was told that this was a safe place,”

“And who in their right mind would give you that advice?” He clicked his tongue, “Hate to break it to you kiddo, but trouble seems to follow me no matter where I go, seems to run in the blood.”

Nero’s shoulders slumped in defeat, but he wouldn’t give up now. “A friend told me this… she says her sister lives here.”

“Haha, no lady would ever wanna live here, trust me, I’ve tried to convince a couple to help split the bills. Got shot in the head when I asked if she wanted to split the bills. He seemed to observe that Nero was shivering, because of the cold, or despair, Nero wasn’t quite sure.

“Get yourself inside before you freeze your butt off, uhhh?” he paused as Nero tried not to look too eager as he pushed the man aside to soak up the warmth. 

“Nero, my name is Nero.”

“Nero, eh? Good name,” the man commented, “Strong.” The mere unintended repetition of that phrase was almost enough for him to start blubbering again. “My name’s Dante, if your friend hadn’t happened to mention it. But seriously, you gotta give me your friend’s name so I can set the record straight. I’m a good hearted dude, but I can’t have rumours going out that this is a kid friendly business, because it ain’t.”

Nero began to pull off his soaked cloak. It was probably ruined beyond repair, but he couldn’t bear to throw it away. “Her name was-is Yamato.”

“Oh.”

The lack of humour in that one word, caused Nero to turn around, cloak falling to his feet to see what had changed his demeanour. And now he got a good look at the man, who was staring at him as if he was a ghost. And to be truthful, the man, aside from the ridiculous scarlet and black getup looked like one, complete with pale skin, bright blue eyes and… bone white hair. Both of them just stared at each other in shock for a good minute.

The older man was the first to break the uncomfortable silence. “Yamato eh…” and his eyes got a bit shinier, although that could have been a trick of light. “Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a looong time.”

“You know her?”

“Well, she did get to know me rather well a little over a decade ago,” his hand unconsciously reached to clutch his chest. “I didn’t think I’d ever see her again. So she told you to come here?”

“Yeah,” he said as he rummaged through his clothes, to get at the sheet that contained her shards, wondering if this was the equivalent to handling the corpse of a sword. “She was in bad shape when we met, but she-she saved me, and well, I was hoping you could help her, because I’m not strong enough to.”

Gingerly, and with a bit of reluctance, he handed the sheet to the older man, who with surprising reverence, brought her to his desk. A steaming pizza, half eaten lay on it, causing Nero’s stomach to grumble in response. On the opposite side, a portrait of a young blonde woman smiled at him, and Nero couldn’t help but feel comforted just by looking at her.

He was so distracted at the photo, he didn’t pay attention as Dante unwrapped the sheet. He startled a bit as the man in red gave out a soft affectionate whistle.

“Hey kid-Nero” he said, with a smile on his face as he turned around to face him, the remnants of Yamato in his arms. Except it wasn’t shards of metal anymore...it was an elegant blade, a red and blue ribbon wrapped around the hilt, the metal encased in a gorgeous blue lacquered wood sheathe.  
“I’m gonna argue with you on the ‘not strong enough’ part.” He chuckled as he nudged her towards him, like he was offering him a newborn infant to hold.

Carefully, and with much trepidation, Nero gently used his clawed right hand to grasp the hilt, while using his left to hold it steady as he unsheathed it. Even in his wildest dreams, he’d never imagined her looking so elegant, so beautiful, so strong.

And a familiar shimmering voice dripped into his mind, comforting and friendly.

_Hello again, young Master._


	2. A dozen bottles of beer on the wall...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dante gets a crash course in family reunions. And Nero finds out how thick blood is over water.

Dante nursed a drink, some of the good stuff this time, not the cheap shit he usually drank. It didn’t matter, the purpose was still the same, to shut off those thoughts that always intruded when he was alone with his thoughts.

But this time, he wasn’t alone. His eyes never left the sleeping form of the kid on the couch, Nero, _his nephew._ For the first time in over a decade, **he wasn’t alone.**

He had to admit, when he laid eyes on the kid, that moment when he saw the disheveled white hair, he had suspected this was yet another lure sent out by Mundus. The first one, a couple years back, a lady that looked like the spitting image of his mother literally crashed into his life, saying something about a place called Mallet Island. His gut screamed that it was a trap, and after a few nights infused with alcohol, he’d decided to just ignore it. Unlike his brother, he felt no compunction to throw his life away on a futile quest of revenge.

_His brother…_

The boy snuffled in his sleep, snuggling closer to Yamato. _That_ was the kicker that this kid was the real deal, that sword. She wouldn’t ever take part in a deception, even if her former Master and Dante never quite got along.

_You should not be drinking so much, Dante. You must be responsible now._

Great, she was still like Vergil, always with the disapproval.

“Well, forgive me if tonight has been a bit of a shake-up. I don’t usually get long lost relatives dumped on my doorstep in the middle of the night.”

_Had there been somewhere else to keep him safe, I would have chosen it._

Ouch, even Vergil’s sword shared his brother’s disdain.

“Look, I’m not the one that left the kid behind to go raising overcompensating towers, at least I would have stayed with the kid and became a dad, not a dead-”

_He didn’t know._

“What?” 

_He was not aware he had fathered a child before we left the island. Had he known…_ the katana hesitated, _I cannot claim to know his mind, but I am pretty certain he would not have left, or at the very least provided for the Young Master._

“Would he have tossed himself off into Hell?”

Yamato hesitated.

_I… do not know. His mind was clouded at that moment, unreadable to me, perhaps even to himself. The pain of defeat, of betrayal was overwhelming._

Dante stared at his glass, the ice hadn’t melted, so he poured more in, the sword’s disapproval be damned.

“I should have grabbed him,” he said, mostly to himself.

 _And I should have not cut you._ The regret in her voice felt jarring for the usually stoic and prideful weapon.

Dante took another swig, this time straight out of the bottle. He needed to ask the question that he’d been dreading, while he still had control of his wits, but drunk enough to have the courage to ask.

“What...what happened to him?”

 _We fought shortly after he landed in Hell, and he managed to slay many demon, but…_ a dread moment of silence, _it wasn’t long before we attracted the attention of Mundus. Perhaps if he had not been winded from the past battles...or if I had been stronger, we might have prevailed. But we were both overpowered, and I was shattered, and that was the last I saw of him._

Shit. It was as he feared. He had hoped that stubborn ole’ Vergil would have persevered, survived in Hell, maybe take it over. But without Yamato, the answer was simple, he was gone. What was weird, was that even though he felt grief, he couldn’t cry, couldn’t summon a single tear. Even with the help of alcohol, the emotions wouldn’t reach the surface. He didn’t know what was worse, not saving his brother when he had a chance, or being complicit in his death.

 _Now is not the time for regrets._ Yamato’s voice intruded softly. _I fell to regret, allowing my shards to be wielded by unworthy hands, until I met the Young Master. We both must move forward, for his sake._

Dante sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I know...It’s just...it’s a lot to take in. To go from having nothing, then finally having a family again.” He gazed longingly at the kid, who was still curled up on the couch. “How much does he know?”

 _Things were hectic, so my priority was keeping him safe, not revealing his heritage. The things those monsters did to him,_ he could have sworn the air shimmered in rage for a second, like it was on the verge of a Judgement Cut. _a Son of Sparda… it was unconscionable._

Nero had told him a bit of his life prior to showing up here, and it wasn’t pretty. Living on an island full of weirdo cultists that worshipped his dad, and yet living as an outcast because of his unknown parentage, and his white hair. Hell, it made living at Dante’s place, crappy as it was, an improvement. Still, the kid needed to be told who he was. Nero was smart, he’d probably already put two and two together, and figured out that he and Dante were related somehow. Best to put the record straight....tomorrow, when he was (hopefully) sober. Speaking which…

Dante set the bottle down and with only slightly unsteady steps, walked over to his nephew. The kid weighed almost nothing, despite eating nearly three quarters of his pizza (Dante hadn’t minded, for possibly the first time in his life) and holding Yamato in his hand he carried the sleeping boy gently up the stairs, towards his bedroom. He wrinkled his nose. He’d never really cared about the state of his room, or his house in general, but now he felt a thick disgust. Now he knew how Lady felt when she looked around his office. He’d have to tidy up a bit, clean out that spare room, get a decent bed for his nephew. Morrison could probably pull some strings to get a bedroom set. And tomorrow, he’d need to go grocery shopping, his nephew couldn’t live off of pizza alone. Maybe make a call to Lady, ask about clothes for a kid, she knew more about clothes shopping than he did. And make sure he paid his heating bill before winter came along. He could live in sub zero temperatures, but Nero didn’t need that.

“Oh God, I’m becoming… responsible” he muttered to himself, the last word tasting bitter in his mouth as he set the kid down in the disheveled sheets. (he would have to get those washed tomorrow, he couldn’t recall the last time they had been in the laundry.)

 _It is a good look for you_ came a whisper, and Dante wasn’t sure if it was Yamato that said it, or himself. Well, it didn’t matter what he felt about it, the kid...his _nephew’s_ feelings of safety and stability were far more important. Everything else was secondary.

Nero murmured something unintelligible and his brow furrowed (a look that was incredibly familiar to Dante, it screamed Vergil), as he settled into the bed, before relaxing into the blankets. 

“Welcome home,” Dante whispered, as he settled Yamato on the nightstand, within reach of the boy when he woke up. Nero had been really cagey around him, only opening up with Yamato’s reassurances. _Couldn’t blame him,_ Dante thought as he headed downstairs and placed the last piece of pizza on a paper plate. _The kid’s been put through the emotional and physical wringer,_ he filled up a (relatively) clean glass with tap water, before bringing it back upstairs. That claw of his, the thing he claimed was as a result of the experiments done to him, Dante knew better. That was an undeveloped devil trigger, his demonic blood manifesting to protect him. He wasn’t sure how the kid would take it, knowing he was part demon, especially when the island he came from hated demons aside from his dad. _Well,_ he mused as he set both plate and glass on the nightstand for Nero when he woke up, _that’s a problem future me can deal with. Right now, present me is going to focus on what’s really important: getting blackout drunk._

* * *

Nero felt the beams of light shining directly in his face, before realizing he was in an unfamiliar place, and waking up suddenly. He was in a bed he’d never seen before, in a room he’d never been in before. And even though the bed was comfy, the room itself had seen better days. Boxes, clothes were strewn about the place. The orphanage matrons would have had a conniption fit had Nero ever left his room like this. Whose room was this anyway?

 _Good morning Young Master,_ Yamato’s voice filtered through his mind, calming him slightly. _I hope you slept well._ He looked frantically for her, last time he’d seen her, he’d been sitting on a couch holding her, while gorging himself on pizza, talking to this weird guy named ... Dante.

 _He thought you’d be more comfortable in a proper bed, instead of the couch._ He was right, after weeks living on park benches and sometimes cardboard, even a saggy bed felt like heaven. He located Yamato, leaning against the nightstand, a plate of cold pizza and a glass of water beside her. The clock beside them, if it was correct, showed the time as eleven in the morning, a time that Nero never had ever woken up at. He wasn’t an early bird like Credo, but even he never really slept in, the orphanage not conducive to that sort of thing. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and stretching, he took a tentative sip of the room temperature water, and began nibbling on the pizza.

He wasn’t quite sure of what to make of the guy. He was a slob, and completely irresponsible, to the point that he could picture Credo blowing a blood vessel seeing the state of the house, and yet, he was friendly and kind, willing to share his food and giving him a place to stay. He had let Nero ramble on about his situation, never interrupting him, even though he could tell Dante was resisting the urge to ask questions with every fibre of his being. 

The physical similarities between the both of them was disconcerting. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Yamato led him to a man that looked almost exactly like him, only older, and with less concern for his living arrangements. His first thought was that the man was his unknown father, but Dante apparently had never heard of Fortuna, and hadn’t asked about his mother, or anything about his parents. Besides, Yamato would have told him if Dante was his dad before he even showed up on the doorstep, soaked to the bone, wouldn’t she? Whatever the situation, he and Dante _must_ be related, somehow.

He scanned the room while he slowly chewed. Besides the bed, the room was a bit decrepit, clothes strewn everywhere, the only piece being shown any care was a red coat hanging on the back of the door. Even the dresser top was barely visible from the clothes and junk covering the wood. And framing the mirror, a bunch of pictures, which looked like they’d been ripped of magazines, of ladies wearing what the tourists on the island called ‘bikinis’, in various poses that looked rather uncomfortable to maintain for any length of time. The one at the lower right hand corner caught his attention, featuring a redhead barely dressed in a baby blue bathing suit, with white polka dots, smiling at the camera like she’d just been told a funny joke. Nero’s chewing slowed down to a crawl as a mental image of Kyrie, wearing that outfit, laughing at a joke he had told her, her freckled skin shining in the bright sun, intruded into his thoughts.

He swallowed heavily, and despite drinking a full glass of water, his mouth was suddenly dry. He felt kinda hot, and in the dirty mirror, he could see his reflection, red as a tomato.

“Hey Yamato,” he asked, hoping that the weapon couldn’t read his thoughts, “do you know where the bathroom in this place is?”

*****

If he thought the bedroom was a mess, the bathroom was worse. Nothing had been cleaned in what seemed like ages, and it looked like the tub had an unhealthy layer of soap scum on it. Nero couldn’t help but cringe as he walked in. 

Yamato thrummed in disapproval, _It appears he hasn’t changed a bit since I last saw him._

“If you thought he was that bad, why bring me to him?” Nero asked, hoping the weapon would reveal something. Even if the guy was his dad, he was better than nothing at all, Nero could attest to that. Dante was nice, and even though he seemed to drink a lot, he wasn’t like some of those guys at the docks, who always headed to the bar after work, and had wives and children with unexplained bruises.

Yamato hesitated, which seemed odd. She obviously knew the connection between the two of them, but wouldn’t say what exactly it was.

Setting Yamato in the corner, he peeled off his clothes, (he still felt a bit awkward at being naked in front of her, although she claimed that she was merely a weapon, she didn’t really care) and gingerly stepped into the tub. If he could get clean, maybe he could get that ever present image of Kyrie on the beach out of his head.

The water, ice cold, did the trick, and Nero, after a few moments of shock, managed to force himself to stand under the spray. The heat in his cheeks dissipated, and the ice water washed away the image of Kyrie frolicing on the beach, and replaced her with her singing in the cathedral in her conservative dress. His relief nearly overwhelming, Nero turned the dial back to hot….but nothing, the water remained ice cold. Even after waiting several minutes, in the hope that the aged plumbing system took a while to get hot water there, did nothing. Nero got out of the shower dejectedly.

_He appears to have not paid his heating bill...how predictable. Here’s to hoping he fulfills his promise last night._

“What promise?” Nero asked as he dried himself off. Yamato left him in awkward silence as he got dressed, and now he was getting annoyed that he wasn’t getting any answers. Here’s to hoping Dante would provide what she would not.

******

Sadly, there would be no answers for the time being. Nero could tell the moment he came down the final few steps, to see the man sprawled out on the couch, his mouth wide open and a dried trail of drool making a trail down his cheek. The smell of alcohol was rampant in the air, almost making him gag, and surrounding the couch were nearly a dozen empty bottles, only a couple of which stood upright. It would appear that he’d continued drinking long after Nero fell asleep. The boy wrinkled his nose. 

“I guess I should just let him sleep it off”

_So it would seem._

Nero looked around, trying to figure out how to spend his time. First, he’d pick up all these bottles. He grabbed a handful of them, before looking around for a recycling bin to put them in. No blue box was visible, so he settled for placing them into a cardboard box that sat beside a flickering jukebox. It took him two trips to carry all of them, and Nero was concerned. He hadn’t drank any alcohol before, but he knew of its effects. He’d never seen anyone drink so much, usually they passed out after drinking a quarter of that amount. Dante, by all rights, should be dead from all of that, not snoring loudly.

All that remained of the bacchanalia was a lone bottle, still gripped in his dangling hand. Nero cautiously (he wasn’t sure why he was so hesitant, the man was out like a light), and slowly tugged it out of his hand.

The bottle was released easily, but almost immediately, faster than Nero could react, Dante’s arm shot out and gripped his wrist in a crushing grip. He yelped and began to yank away, but Dante just held on tighter. 

“Dante” he softly said, trying to wake up the man, but nothing except a furrowed brow on the man changed. “Please let me go” he struggled, tried using his free hand/claw to pry himself out, but Dante responded by just holding on tighter, to the point it was beginning to hurt.

“I’m not letting you go this time, Vergil” the man murmured, visible torment on his face. A nightmare? “Don’t you dare…” Nero swore he heard the squeak and pop of his bones beginning to bend past the breaking point. “Vergil...don’t go…”

Apparently, this ‘Vergil’ person was someone important to him, but all Nero could think about was the increasing pain.  
 _Young Master! Hold still!_

He felt a rush of energy behind him, like an electricity laced wind, flowing around him, and aiming directly at the nightmare ridden man. For a brief terrifying moment he thought she was going to do that same thing as back in the labs, but instead, a brilliant blue light shot out, and with a grunt of pain, Dante recoiled, as he released Nero’s hand. The boy, who had just been struggling to get away a moment ago, lost his footing, and a few stumbling steps backward, he tumbled to the floor, his head narrowly missing hitting the leg of the pool table. Instead, his shoulder hit something metal that clattered to the ground.

In front of him, Dante remained slumbering, a slight twinge of pain on his face. An understatement of an expression, as there was a sword embedded in his chest. Nero knew that sword, he’d seen in the hands of every statue of Sparda on the island. But this one was an ethereal blue, and mere moments later, it vanished, leaving nothing behind, save for a growing red spot on the man’s chest.

“Dante!” he cried out worriedly. He needed to get up, to help stop the bleeding, then call for help. A wound like that was dangerous. Why had Yamato taken such a drastic step? There had to have been a better way to-  
 **Ahhhh, don’t worry about that, he’ll be fine. Trust me, I stabbed him once, and he got better in a couple of minutes.** A boisterous voice rang out in his head, the colour of brilliant crimson and silver. **That being said, that should get him out of his funk soon, a stabbings a better way to wake him up than pretty much anything.**

Nero frantically looked around, trying to locate this new voice.

**Down here kid, mind setting me back up? Not a comfortable position to be in right now.**

There, lying down on the floor, was yet another sword. Not sleek and elegant like Yamato, but thick and solid, with a terrifying looking skull on the hilt. It took a few dumbfounded moments, but Nero realized… this was the ‘sister’ Yamato spoke of. Tentatively, he placed his hands around the leather, and placed her back up to what he thought was her original position.

**Thanks kid, you’re a champ. Nice to meet you, by the way. I’m Rebellion, butcha can call me Reb...or if you’re feeling fancy, Belle is also nice-**

_‘Idiot’ also works as well_

**Good to see you too, sis, you haven’t changed a bit.** How a sword could convey sarcasm was strange, and he felt her focus back on him. **Yam’s still got her sageo in a knot.**

 _I told you not to call me that_.

**Make me.**

Nero ignored their bickering. Rebellion. Okay Yamato being the fabled sword of Sparda, he could understand it being a lucky coincidence that they met, but Rebellion? The other sword? 

“Wait, Rebellion...SPARDA’S Rebellion?”

**Yup, the Leftie of Sparda, and the better looking one by far.**

_Nonsense._

**Don’t mind her, she’s always been jealous of me. So,** he felt himself being examined, **Hmmm, I like you, you’re a lot nicer than your old man. He would have just left me sprawled out on the floor.**

Nero grinned at the compliment, before freezing.

_Rebellion, no!_

“My… my old man?” a feeling of cold, more icy than the shower water, pooled in his stomach.

_No… Sister, not yet…_

Rebellion seemed oblivious to both her sister, and the impact her words were having.

**Yeah, pain in the ass he was, just like Yam, but he was always there in a pinch. Some of my best fights were against him. Oh man, the stor-**

“Ah..that’s enough” A familiar voice croaked from behind him. There sat, a bit hunched over, Dante, a strange look on his face, staring intently at Nero. 

_I tried to stop her…_

“Yeah, she has a habit of running her mouth at the worst time,” He looked down at his dark shirt, with an even darker stain surrounding a tear in it. To Nero’s amazement, there was no wound underneath. “Really Yamato, you DO know shirts don’t just grow on trees.”

 _You were hurting the Young Master, I had no choice._ The blade defended herself. Dante’s face fell.

“Shit...sorry kid. Not used to sharing a place after all these years.” He looked downcast, and Nero felt kinda bad. But there was still what Rebellion had just said.  
“You could make it up to me by telling me about my ‘old man.’”

Dante bit his lip, obviously torn between telling him, and keeping his mouth shut.

_He deserves to know._

**Yeah, you can’t leave him in the dark forever.**

Nero waited with bated breath, as Dante rubbed his head. “Thanks a lot, past me,” he muttered to himself, before taking a deep breath. “Well, where to begin?”

_The beginning._

**Start with the OG demon himself.**

He sighed, before he looked around, to see if there was still a bottle that had something in it, but there was none to be found.

“So...let’s start with a guy.... A guy named Sparda…”

**Author's Note:**

> Fury, I hope you're proud of the abomination you've just midwifed into the world.


End file.
